


Grooming

by AEpixie7



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's wings are very sensitive, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, Wing grooming leads to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 06:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20130832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AEpixie7/pseuds/AEpixie7
Summary: Aziraphale's wings are in need of a good grooming and Crowley is more than happy to help. If that sounds like the description of a cheesy porno, well... that's prob because it is.





	Grooming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProfessorFlowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorFlowers/gifts).

> Special thanks to ProfessorFlowers for the wing grooming idea and for beta reading! They are making art and comics for the Good Omens fandom, follow them on [Tumblr!](https://professorflowers.tumblr.com/)

Aziraphale glanced out the window for probably the fifteenth time, finding Crowley still kneeling in the garden, entirely enraptured with his plants. He would probably remain out there for hours if he was left undisturbed, so really Aziraphale had nothing to worry about. 

He sighed and tried to calm the jitters in his hands as he shakily unbuttoned his waistcoat and removed it, the shirt beneath taking quite a bit more concentration. He was thousands of years old, and he’d done this hundreds of times. Why did it always have to be so nerve wracking? Shouldn’t he be past this by now? 

He removed the shirt and approached the vintage standing mirror in the corner of the living room, sighing as he turned and examined his back, where his wings should be. He glanced one last time out the French doors of the cottage, Crowley still intensely preoccupied with angrily yanking the weeds out by their roots, before he materialized his wings, his eyes drifting closed as he let out a grunt of approval. He wished he didn’t have to hide them, they got so horribly cramped. He also wished they wouldn’t get so unkempt when they weren’t even corporeal. It wasn’t fair! How could the feathers get so ruffled when they weren’t technically exposed to the elements? But here he was, pacing the cottage in annoyance as his wings itched worse and worse. He could always tell when they were in need of a good grooming. It wasn’t painful, per se. It was more like when your sock keeps slipping down inside your shoe. Like a very insistent annoyance until finally you couldn’t take it anymore and _had_ to fix it. Which was what led him to his current predicament- staring into the mirror at his horrendously messy wings and deflating a bit. He hated this particular chore. Partly because he always let them get so bad that it ended up taking hours to get the feathers preened. But mostly he hated it because his wings were so ridiculously sensitive that it was overwhelming. Sometimes he would give up part way through just because he couldn’t handle it anymore. 

He let out a shaky breath as he cautiously ran his fingers through the feathers, in the hopes that maybe something had changed. Maybe this time it would be different. 

He squeaked when his fingertips reached the delicate skin beneath the feathers, sending a rush straight through the bones of his wings and reaching his ribcage with a jolt to his chest. He suddenly felt very warm, even though he stood only in his trousers. 

“Oh, bother.” 

He took a deep breath and steeled himself, glancing at the clock on the mantle above the fireplace. He'd give it ten minutes and see what he could accomplish. 

He felt like he had been at it for hours, strictly based on the way his skin felt hot and flushed and his heart seemed to be beating in his fingertips. He managed to straighten a few primaries and preen some of the smaller tertiaries that had lost their luster, before glancing at the clock once again. 

_Only three minutes?!_

“Oh goodness,” he muttered to himself, his temples feeling moist with nervous sweat. He wiped them with the palm of his hand, before turning and attempting to reach the feathers close to his back, an involuntary squeal escaping his lips when another jolt of electricity shot down his spine and settled at the back of his knees, nearly making him collapse. 

“Alright there, angel?” 

Aziraphale yelped and snapped his wings closed against his back, spinning on his heel and nearly toppling over. Crowley's hand shot out and caught him by the elbow, his brow furrowed in concern. 

“Oh yes of course, dear. Nothing to fret about. Just erm… preening a bit,” he said quickly, feeling all that warmth that had been coursing through his body settling in both his cheeks. 

Crowley considered him for a moment, before cracking that debonair smile. “Well you're doing a shit job of it,” he teased, one hand reaching out to stroke the longest primary feather. Aziraphale jumped out of his reach, wringing his hands and fidgeting under Crowley's confused stare. 

“It’s good enough, I think. I’ve managed as best I can. You've been out in the hot sun all day, why don’t I make us some refreshments, hm?” Aziraphale blubbered, hoping Crowley would forget about his wings and move on. He should’ve known better. He should’ve known _Crowley_ better. 

“Angel, they look terrible!” Crowley barked as his hand closed around Aziraphale’s arm, stopping him from making his way into the kitchen. “Let me help you.” 

Aziraphale felt like his heart might explode from how quickly it was beating. 

“Oh, no, dear, it’s quite alright. They’re fine, really…” 

“How do you live with them like this? Aren’t they uncomfortable?” Crowley asked, Aziraphale unable to move away quickly enough before Crowley's hand coursed through the soft down up near the joint and _oh good lord…_

Aziraphale choked out a breath and blushed harder, his wing starting to tremble beneath Crowley's touch. Since Armageddon had been averted, Crowley had touched almost every inch of Aziraphale. He knew his entire body, and he knew where he liked to be touched, kissed, _licked._ But Aziraphale hadn't allowed him to touch his wings yet, and for good reason. At least when he tended to his own wings, he knew when to stop and how much he could take. He didn’t think he could handle someone else touching them. Certainly not _Crowley._ His face might combust from his blushing as he noticed the tingling feeling he got in his belly at the thought of Crowley, his hands buried in his feathers and his warm breath sighing into his ear. 

_Oh dear._

Crowley seemed to take notice of how Aziraphale had bristled, and the angel audibly sighed when Crowley pulled his hand from his wing. Crowley removed his glasses and tossed them onto the coffee table, his eyes soft and reassuring. 

“Would it help you relax if you did mine first?” he asked, and Aziraphale straightened. Now that was an idea, wasn’t it? He wanted desperately to say no, to say he was just fine and he’d very much like it if Crowley would drop this nonsense. But… his curiosity was getting the better of him. He’d admired Crowley's wings more times than he cared to admit. Were they as sensitive as his own? Did the black feathers still feel angel soft? He swallowed hard as he reprimanded himself. No, he absolutely could not allow this to happen. 

“No, I think I’d rather just have a cup of tea and…” 

“Nonsense, angel. Your wings are likely to fall off if you let them get any worse. Come now,” Crowley said, and without another word, slipped his black cotton t-shirt over his head, rolling his neck as he released his wings. He approached the dining room and spun a chair around, straddling it backwards and tapping his fingers against the back of it. 

“Well angel? I'm waiting,” Crowley said with a mischievous little grin as he glanced over his shoulder. Aziraphale blushed and smiled, his eyes drifting down the very inviting curve of Crowley's shoulder down to where his jet black wings emerged from his back. He shuffled forward, giving Crowley's wings a cursory inspection and finding them exquisitely well groomed. 

“Well I don’t know how much I can do here, Crowley, they… they don’t need much.” 

“I know. ‘s cuz I take care of them. Just do what you'd normally do with yours. Even if they don’t need it, still feels nice,” he muttered, resting his chin on his arms where they folded on the back of the chair. Aziraphale wrung his hands for a moment, before reaching out and pressing his fingertips into the feathers. 

Crowley sighed pleasurably, his eyes drifting closed as he turned his head and laid his cheek onto his arms, his wings relaxing slightly under Aziraphale's quiet ministrations. 

“They’re not… too sensitive? This doesn’t bother you?” Aziraphale asked, his hands working through the feathers and finding a few here and there that were in need of straightening. 

“No. I mean, they’re sensitive. But it doesn’t bother me. ‘s nice, angel,” Crowley mumbled, his wings pushing back slightly for more contact. Aziraphale frowned, somewhat disappointed. At least if Crowley had been equally as sensitive then he might understand how he was feeling. 

He tended to Crowley's wings almost reverently, worshipping every feather and delicate bone with angelic precision. Crowley's breathing slowed, until Aziraphale was fairly certain he may have fallen asleep. He smiled, removing his hands and attempting to sneak away. 

“I'm pretty sure my wings were perfect half an hour ago,” Crowley mumbled, and Aziraphale deflated. If he were prone to cursing, he probably would have. 

“Your wings were perfect six thousand years ago, dear,” he said softly, turning back and finding Crowley looking dreamily happy as he stood and stretched, his ribs protruding slightly as he did so, Aziraphale's attention drawing down to his skinny tummy. He suddenly had the urge to kiss his way down that thin trail of hair that dipped beneath the edge of his trousers. He blushed and diverted his gaze before Crowley could notice. 

“You can’t distract me with flattery, angel. Have a seat. Your turn,” Crowley said with a smile, motioning to the chair. Aziraphale's heart started racing again as he stared at the seat, hesitating to move. 

Crowley approached and grabbed him by the elbow, ushering him toward the chair. “Come on. Sit backwards in the chair, like I did. It’s really not that bad, I promise. Your wings look like hell and they'll feel better once they’ve been groomed.” 

Aziraphale sank into the chair, feeling very awkward about how far he had to spread his legs to straddle the thing. He was glad that the wooden back of the chair was there in front of him, though, because it provided something for him to grip as if his life depended on it. 

He was honestly surprised he didn’t break the chair at the first contact of Crowley’s fingertips to his wings. His hands tightened on the wooden back of it, and although it didn’t buckle, he could hear it creaking as his knuckles turned white. His wings clamped against his back, shaking from the effort of keeping them so tight. 

“Aziraphale… relax. You're so tense. What's the matter?” Crowley asked, his voice soft with concern as his fingers caressed along the edge of Aziraphale's wings, smoothing the feathers he found there. 

“It’s nothing. I'm fine. Just… get on with it so we can be done,” Aziraphale huffed, Crowley's hands stilling as he remained silent behind him. Suddenly Crowley was gone, and Aziraphale turned to find him pouring a glass of whiskey from the decanter they kept on a small side table near the French doors. He approached and handed Aziraphale the glass, the angel taking it and looking questioningly up at his demon. 

“You looked like you could use a drink,” Crowley said with a gentle smile, his hand rubbing Aziraphale's back between his wings. Aziraphale relaxed slightly, taking a sip from the glass. “Oh. Thank you, dear,” he mumbled, taking another small sip and returning his arms to fold over the back of the chair, his wings slightly more relaxed than they had been before. 

“Am I really that obvious?” he asked, his voice so quiet he was sure a human wouldn’t have heard him. 

Crowley chuckled at him, his hands massaging the angel's neck and shoulders instead of going straight for the target. Aziraphale hummed pleasurably, his eyes closing as Crowley's magnificent fingers worked the tension from him in small, firm circles. 

“What’s the big deal, anyhow? It’s just your wings. It’s like any other part of you. I mean, you clearly don’t keep up with them, but it's like all your old vintage clothes. If you want them in 'tip top condition,' you're going to have to be better about grooming them.” 

Aziraphale pondered his statement over another sip of whiskey. “I suppose you're right. But taking care of my coat is not the same as this, dear, it's rather more precarious, because I _ohhhh,_” Aziraphale's spine straightened, stiff as a board, as Crowley's fingertips sank into the soft down near his back. Aziraphale slammed his eyes shut and winced, his entire body prickling with sensation as Crowley worked his fingers beneath the feathers to massage the thin skin beneath. 

“What was that you were saying?” Crowley asked, his voice just a touch mischievous, but the angel was far too distracted to reprimand him. 

“I erm… I don’t… _Crowley…_” Aziraphale whined, tucking his face into his elbow to hide his blushing. Crowley stroked his fingers down through the secondary feathers, and Aziraphale had to bite down on the muscle of his own arm to keep from moaning. He could already feel a twisting in his belly and a tightness in his trousers that was growing increasingly uncomfortable. This was precisely why he didn’t want Crowley touching his wings. It was one thing when he groomed his own wings, back before he'd ever really made an effort. But now that he was always making the effort, now that he and Crowley had committed themselves to one another… he knew this would happen. At least when he groomed himself, he knew when to stop before things got… any worse. 

Crowley began working on the primaries- the largest and longest feathers. Because they were the heaviest, they tended to garter the most extreme reaction when he groomed them, and it was apparently no different when Crowley did it. Aziraphale kept his eyes clamped shut and his mouth against his own arm, his eyes beginning to water from the effort of restraining the sounds his body wanted to make. Were it not for his attempt to save his dignity, he'd probably be screaming by now. 

Aziraphale was entirely helpless to stop the whimper that escaped when Crowley found a feather up near his radial bone that needed preening. He carelessly yanked on it, loosing it and coaxing out that helpless whimper at the same time. Crowley's hands halted their movement, and Aziraphale began to panic as he tried to shift in the chair. Normally he would cross his legs to conceal his body's lustful reactions, but the way he was straddling the chair didn’t allow it. He hugged himself closer to the back of the chair in the hopes that Crowley wouldn’t lean over his shoulder and find him so hopelessly aroused. 

Instead, Crowley hesitated for a moment when he heard the whimper, before his fingertips searched out the skin where he'd preened the feather and rubbed gently over it. The quick jolt of pain had made that particular spot hyper sensitive, and Aziraphale nearly bucked his hips when Crowley’s thumb worked into that spot with such tender care. 

“So sensitive, angel. You know if you'd groom them more often, they wouldn’t be like that.” 

Aziraphale huffed out an annoyed breath, his attention still keenly focused on the sensation of Crowley's thumb rubbing such sweet circles over that spot that he nearly forgot whatever it was he was about to say. 

“It’s… I can’t… do that Crowley. It’s too hard,” Aziraphale murmured, swallowing hard when he realized what it sounded like he'd said. He meant that it was too difficult to groom his wings consistently when the very task sent him into a spiral of sensation that he hardly knew how to handle. But now all he could think about was how ridiculously hard he was beneath his trousers and how Crowley’s hands were so marvelous but _oh_ how he wished he would just stop already. How embarrassing it would be to climax just sitting here having his wings groomed. 

“And why can’t you?” Crowley asked as his hands went to work rearranging the tertiaries near Aziraphale's back, the angel's shoulders shivering from the tingling sensation that was crawling up and down his spine. Aziraphale kept his face tucked into the crook of his elbow, his one hand still gripping his glass of whiskey like a vice. 

“It's embarrassing,” he mumbled against his arm, Crowley's hands slowing before they stopped altogether. _Wait, what did I just say?! Did he notice? Oh Heavens sake, just go back to grooming my wings, don’t…_

Aziraphale jumped and yelped when Crowley’s hand slithered down past his ribcage and around to his front, gently cupping the very obvious erection he found. 

“Oh, I see…” Crowley smiled into Aziraphale's ear as he palmed his crotch, his other hand still lost in the feathers of one of his wings. 

“C-Crowley!” Aziraphale stuttered, his entire body shuddering so hard that he lost his grip on the whiskey glass and it tumbled to the ground. The amber liquid sloshed out onto the floor, but neither celestial seemed to care very much. Crowley had taken the angel's earlobe lightly between his lips to give it a thorough sucking, Aziraphale's head falling back onto his shoulder as he rolled his hips and pushed himself up into Crowley’s hand. 

“Why would you be embarrassed, angel?” Crowley asked huskily, his fingers working the button of Aziraphale’s trousers, then the zipper. He kept his other hand buried in the feathers of his wings, the combined sensation of having his wings caressed at the same time the demon's hand slipped easily beneath his cotton pants and _oh…_

Aziraphale bucked into Crowley’s hand, his voice weak when he finally managed to form words. “Bec-cause it's… always been something I c-can't help… my wings are… they're just so… s-_sensitive_ I…” his voice failed him as he whined, his hips rocking shallowly as Crowley began to stroke him slow and easy, the demon's other hand massaging his wing with such dexterity that Aziraphale’s hand shot down to grasp Crowley's wrist. 

“Crowley, I…” he panted, unsure of what he even meant to say. 

Crowley didn’t wait to hear it, anyhow. Both his hands gripped Aziraphale's hips, dragging him back off the chair and onto his knees on the floor. There was a snap of fingers, a quick miracle, and both angel and demon were naked, both flushed and warm and panting. 

“Angel, I want…” 

“_Yes,_” Aziraphale interrupted him, both hands planted on the ground and his legs spreading wide as he rutted back against Crowley's hard cock where it pressed tightly against his ass. Crowley hissed, one hand tightening around his angel's plush hip. 

“Do you… need…” Crowley muttered heavily as he planted one foot up beside Aziraphale's knee, so he could line up his cock and slide it between his angel’s pretty ass cheeks. 

“No, none of that. Just… _please_ Crowley,” Aziraphale whimpered. Crowley smiled as he leaned back and admired his angel, shivering and begging for him. He’d never seen him so _needy_ before. Usually Aziraphale was reserved and coy about his desires, probably from centuries of having to keep them hidden away under the pretense of angelic piety. How Crowley had _yearned_ to see him like this, uninhibited and wanton beneath his fingertips. And now he had it- Aziraphale was practically sobbing, miracling himself ready because he couldn’t wait through any foreplay, he _needed_ his demon inside him or he just might discorporate. 

“Oh, angel,” Crowley cooed, hovering over Aziraphale as he slowly pushed inside him, his strange tongue licking a slow line up his spine before stopping to flick just at the edge of his wing, where feathers met skin. Aziraphale practically wailed, his wings quivering intensely as he pushed back against Crowley's hard cock. “C-Crowley… your tongue… _oh God..._” Aziraphale groaned, his own hand darting to his cock as his head lolled forward, his fist pumping quickly as the jitters shot straight from his wings to his throbbing cock. Crowley whimpered as he eased his thrusts, trembling from the effort of remaining so torturously slow. He pushed fully inside his angel, keeping himself buried like that as he began littering Aziraphale’s wings with kisses. 

“Angel, I'll have your wings in my hands every night if you'll let me. I know you don’t think you could handle it but _holy hell_ I’d fuck you like this for hours. Kissing these pretty wings, licking them, oh _Satan_ would you let me fuck them?” he punctuated the statement by clawing one hand against the underside of Aziraphale’s wing, at the same time as he pressed his other palm over the angel’s wildly hammering heart, his thumb flicking over a nipple. Aziraphale _keened_, his fist pumping quickly as he clenched around Crowley's cock. 

Aziraphale couldn’t help the thought that formulated into words without even trying, bypassing the filter that usually caught such lewd thoughts before they were uttered. “Crowley I want you to come on them,” he gasped, feeling his cheeks blush bright red at the suggestion. 

“On your wings?” Crowley asked, whimpering as he felt his cock swell at the very idea. 

“_Yes,_” Aziraphale pleaded, and Crowley pumped his hips faster, his cock head pounding into Aziraphale's prostate as his forehead came to rest between his angel's wings, his lips pressing lazy kisses to the sweat soaked skin. 

“Anything, I'll do anything you want. So pretty, my angel, _God_ you drive me crazy. _Shit_,” his voice broke around the curse, and he barely managed to pull out in time, his hand reaching desperately for his cock. He threw his head back with a shout, his release slinging out over Aziraphale's back and wings. Crowley hadn’t even recovered, his body still wracked with tremors, but he managed to reach up and smear his hand into the angel's feathers, now sticky with his seed. Aziraphale sobbed, his hips jerking as he came into his hand, his wings twitching and shuddering heavily from the sensation of Crowley's fingertips, slippery with his own come as he caressed through his feathers. 

Both remained where they were, Aziraphale trembling on all fours and Crowley slumped behind him, his hand still absently coursing through sweat and come stained feathers. 

“Hmf, Crowley, _stop_, my… my wings it’s… too much,” Aziraphale mumbled, and Crowley nodded, removing his hand and miracling away his mess, leaving the feathers practically glowing iridescent with pure, unadulterated bliss. 

“Angel,” Crowley said dreamily, rocking back on his heels and running a hand through his sweaty hair, a satisfied smile gracing his lips as he looked down at his beautiful angel, collapsed and euphoric before him. 

“Don’t ever be embarrassed about how much you like something. Cuz I promise, one hundred percent of the time… I'll like it too,” he panted, his body still feeling weightless from the tidal wave of pleasure that had just crashed over him. 

Aziraphale chuckled, pushing himself weakly up onto his knees, his body trembling as he turned and tucked himself against Crowley's chest, a hand draped comfortably over his shoulder. He sighed and allowed his eyes to close when Crowley wrapped his arms around him, kissing his hair. 

“Erm… angel?” 

“Yes, dear?” 

“I think I did an even more shit job of grooming your wings.”


End file.
